


Baby, We Could Be Enough

by Justalittlelouislove



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 22:30:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13133547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Justalittlelouislove/pseuds/Justalittlelouislove
Summary: Louis nudges his head toward the door. “Out there, people can barely be people, they’re so trampled down by laws and rules, expectations,” He says the last word like he’d rather spit it out, disgusted. “In here, there’s no right and wrong. No talk about how anyone should act, drink, say. There’s no laws.” Leaning forward, he stares deep into Harry’s eyes until the younger man’s cheeks bloom with a pink tint. “No sin,” He whispers.





	Baby, We Could Be Enough

**Author's Note:**

  * For [musketrois (B_kate)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_kate/gifts).



“Nothing so needs reforming as other people's habits. Fanatics will never learn that, though it be written in letters of gold across the sky. It is the prohibition that makes anything precious” 

―  [ **Mark Twain** ](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/1244.Mark_Twain)

 

In the city, summer means unrelenting heat and ever-present crowds. The nearly constant freezing conditions of Chicago winter offer a man a reprieve from the noise and the crowds if only a small one. People stay inside, wrapped up in their blankets and wool socks, doing everything to avoid the biting winds.  One can move around the city streets freely then.

In the summer, from nearly dusk till dawn and then back to dusk again, automobile horns honk angrily in warning and women in heels and layers of pearls weave through traffic. Before the sun sets, heat shimmies off the pavement, making the whole world feel wobbly and off-kilter. The air is thick with dark smog from automobile exhausts and cigarettes. A constant thrumming of music plays, vibrating through the buildings and thumping along like the very lifeline of the city, flowing out through the open doors of ballrooms and restaurants alike. 

That's where he's headed now, a restaurant and ballroom all wrapped up in one, the Green Mill. Rattling along the unevenly surfaced road in an old hand me down Model T, he negotiates the irritatingly thick crowd of pedestrians, swearing under his breath in impatience. After what seems to be hours of starting and stopping and wanting to tear his hair out, the bright lights of The Essany Studio's Picturehouse signal his arrival. 

Parking around the side of the Mill, he makes quick work of jumping out and pulling out a nondescript crate. Hauling it with him towards the side entrance, he props it on his hip, unconcerned with possible damage to his tweed pants. Already coated with river muck and city grime, they're surely ruined anyhow. 

Three rapid knocks followed by four more at a much slower rate have the door swinging open towards the inside. A teenage boy, wiry and freckled, stands just beyond it smiling eagerly. 

“Heya, Lou,” He greets enthusiastically, making room for Louis to enter the small hallway and securing the door behind him. “Have a good run, no problems with the Coppers?” 

Hefting the crate up again from where it’s slipping down his leg a bit, Louis leans forward and ruffles Tommy’s hair. 

“Nah, smooth sailing kiddo,” He says with a wink. Heading down the hall he looks back over his shoulder. Mirth twinkles in his ocean blue eyes.  “Don’t let me come back here and catch you sneaking in any dumb doras, slacking off on your job!” 

Tommy laughs, the sound bouncing off the wood-paneled walls joyfully. "A regular ladies man I am." He shouts at Louis's retreating back. 

Shaking his head fondly, Louis pushes through the door at the end of the hall, entering the kitchen.  It bustles with movement, waiters rushing this way and that. A couple nod to him in acknowledgment, some stop to give him a slap on the back and a quick smile. By the oven, a middle-aged woman stands, wielding a spatula and a warm grin. An apron, probably generations old if Louis had to guess, wraps around her waist and sits against her generous curve of hip. The heat of the kitchen shows on her caramel skin, making it glisten and shine with sweat. 

“Well, would you look what the cat drug in,” She announces with a wink. “Looks like a river rat has found its way into my kitchen.” 

Louis drops the crate to the floor gently and signals for one of the busboys to bring around to the bar. Walking around the kitchen line, and skirting a few rushing waiters, he saunters up to her and plants a kiss on her cheek. 

“You keep flattering me like that and I’m gonna go out and buy you a shiny new handcuff for that little finger of yours,” He flirts, wagging his eyebrows foolishly. 

Tossing her head back, she laughs deeply, bringing a wide smile to his face. With one last peck on her cheek and a swat to his butt with a kitchen towel for his trouble, he walks out through the swinging door into the lounge. 

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the difference between the brightly lit kitchen and the dark cocktail lounge. A cloud of smoke drifts along the top of the room, consistently bolstered by patrons sitting in the green velvet booths pulling on cigarettes leisurely. Their voices blend together and create a harmony of laughs and chatter, baritone of men's voices clashing and melding with the women's higher tones. He walks past the slightly raised stage, heels of his shoes clicking against the hardwood floor almost imperceptibly over the noise in the room. The band is setting up between sets with only a man at the piano and Betty, in a generous amount of Chanel no 5 and a less generous length of red fringe skirt, crooning into the microphone. He passes her with a wink and nods at the barkeep on his way to a corner booth situated just right of the bar. 

Flanked by two bulky men in pinstripes, Zayn sits in the middle of the booth with his arm thrown over the back. From his position, he can see both the front and the side door, which is why he never sits anywhere else. As he’d explained to Louis one, finger jabbing into his chest and words slurring slightly under the influence of smooth brown liquor, the only way to stay alive is to stay ahead and never let ‘em see you before you see them. 

He's only got to wait for a second or two stood in front of the table before Zayn is waving off his cronies and making room for him to slide in next to him. Just as he removes his hat and settles back against the booth, a waitress with a sleek black bob and dark red lipstick places a glass in front of him. He thanks her with a quick nod and raises his glass to Zayn in toast, square cubes tingling around in his glass prettily. 

“Here’s to cheating, stealing, fighting, and drinking,” Zayn starts with a tilt of his head and a small smile. 

Louis mirrors his smile. “If you cheat, may you cheat death. If you steal, may you steal another’s heart. If you fight, may you fight for a brother,” Louis continues. 

“And if you drink, may you drink with me!” Zayn finishes with enthusiasm, clasping Louis on the back while they both pull from their drinks. 

Shifting his weight to the left, Louis leans back and watches Zayn's profile as the latter observes the stage with keen, honey colored eyes. His beard is trimmed neatly, dark hair uniform where it lines his sculpted jaw. At the hinge, Louis watches his jaw clench rhythmically, the only clue that something is off. A clue Louis has learned to spot somewhere early on in their 15-year friendship. 

Keeping his eyes on Zayn, Louis picks up his glass and swirls the liquid around slowly, causing the sharp scent to waft up. 

“So,” He starts, pausing to take a sip. “What’s got you all riled up, something happen with a shipment?” 

Zayn’s eyes slide over towards him, and for a second it looks like he’ll brush it off. Deny it with a wave of the hand and tell him nothing’s going on. But he takes a breath and tips his head down, probably realizing there’s no point. Not with Louis, anyway. 

He puts his head to the side once, in the direction of the bar. Louis follows the line of sight, his eyes falling on Liam propped up against the well-oiled bar top. Broad shouldered and sweet-faced despite his manly beard and plethora of tattoos, he's got one foot crossed over his ankle and he's leaning towards a small brunette. 

Cheryls back in town. 

“Ahh, I see,” Louis says with a solemn nod. “You know you’ve got nothing to worry about.” 

Zayn tenses and swings his eyes back to the stage. Louis pats at his jacket pockets in search of his pack of cigarettes. Finding them he pulls two out and sticks one in his mouth, holding the other out to Zayn, who takes it and rolls it between his fingers. Louis can practically see the steam coming from his ears, his mind going over the situation again and again. Undoubtedly making him more upset by the second. 

Lighting the one in his mouth, Louis narrows his eyes. “Aye,” He says sharply. “ Who's the brains of this operation?” 

At that, Zayn huffs out a laugh and swings his head towards Louis. “Well, I sure as shit hope it ain’t you!” He exclaims. 

Taking a pull of his cigarette, Louis smirks and gives him a shrug. “Sorry to disappoint ya tough guy, but it’s always been me.” Leaning forward, he rests his elbow on the table and points toward Liam and Cheryl with his cigarette wielding hand. “And what I’m telling you is, no matter what shit they got going on this time, you’ll never have anything to worry about with that big oaf.” 

Zayn stares into his eyes for a moment, searching them for some kind of answer. When Louis tilts his head to the side and cocks a brow, Zayn laughs again, tension draining from his body. Leaning back against the seat, he picks up his glass to take a sip. 

“Yeah,” He agrees, chasing a drop of liquor across his bottom lip. “You’re right.” 

Louis nods smugly but doesn't get the chance to really revel in it before Betty steps downstage and the band starts playing, accompanying her in the next song. There's a new face playing the trumpet and it draws Louis's attention and holds it. He watches the newcomer for the entirety of the song, eyes roaming the expanse of his legs. He only turns away when he senses motion, someone approaching the table, and looks up to see Liam coming over. 

Unlike what would happen to just about anyone else, none of the armed men in the surrounding tables got up to stand in his path. Liam moves freely through the bar, the city, hell if Zayn has anything to say about it, the whole world. 

With a small smile, Liam slides in the booth and pushes up against Zayn, who drops his arm over his shoulder comfortably. 

"Hey Lou," He waves towards the bar, requesting a drink. "I'm glad you're here. I want you to meet our new trumpet player."

“I’ve seen him,” He says, nodding slowly. 

Liam perches forward slightly and rests an elbow on the table. “His names Harry. Or Harold maybe,” He answers uncertainly, words slurring slightly. “Something like that.” 

Taking another pull from his nearly finished cigarette, Louis turns his attention back to the stage. Now that the initial shock of sex appeal has passed, he’s able to really listen to the performance. 

To be honest, it’s awful. 

He can feel Zayn's eyes on him while he stubs out his cigarette in the ashtray. But, he ignores him and addresses Liam again. 

“You’re saying this kid plays professionally,” he asks, gesturing towards the stage. “For a living, I mean.” 

Liam just nods at his skeptical tone with an agreeing facial expression. “I gotta tell ya, I think he would have taken any job we were offering,” he admits “Seems down on his luck.” 

The music shifts again, back to just Betty and the piano and Louis finds himself turning back to the stage. 

“It’s a wonder he’s got to work at all, running around on stems like those.” He mumbles under his breath. 

But Zayn catches it because he always does. 

“You got an interest in those stems, Lou?” He probes humorously. 

Louis buys himself a second by taking a sip of his drink. Liam is ignoring them both, looking past them and waving someone over to the table. 

“Louis, Zayn, this is Harry.” 

"Hello, nice to meet you," Harry says in a slow drawl, nodding politely. He stands just to the right of the booth, toes turned in. 

“Please, sit.” Zayn says, motioning to the booth beside Louis. 

“Alright, Harold. And where in the world did you get an accent like that?” He asks, delighting in the way Harry smiles widely at the question. 

Taking the drink Pat puts down in front of him at the table, Harry thanks him and takes a slow sip before responding. “I grew up in New Orleans, just got here not but two weeks ago.” 

The lights that hang around the bar bounce off the green in Harry’s eyes so prettily, Louis leans forward into his space without even meaning to, feeling a lot more drunk than he was just minutes ago. 

Liam clears his throat, reminding Louis they aren’t alone. “Z, I’m itching for a good hand,” He simpers. “Let’s head down?” 

Harry smiles and gives them a tiny wave as they go, watching them head behind the bar. Louis watches the way his Adam's apple bobs as he takes a sip of his drink. 

“How does a pretty thing like you end up in a place like this?” Louis asks with a curious tilt of his head and a soft smile. 

A shadow crosses over Harry’s face, and for a moment Louis thinks he’s not going to answer. But he does, eyes on his drink and voice a little lower than it was before, sadder. 

"Well, I came here with a band," He says, swirling the liquid around in his glass. "We did pretty well back home, decided to try our hand out here. Guess they decided they were better off without me though. So, here I am." 

Louis takes another sip of his drink and decides to ignore the anger that snaps up in response to the pain that’s poorly masked in the cadence of Harry’s speech. He doesn’t even know this man, no reason to feel so protective. 

“You were the trumpet player,” He asks softly. Harry looks confused, eyebrows scrunched together, so Louis clarifies. “In the band, you played the trumpet?”

Harry huffs out a laugh, wrinkling his nose a bit in embarrassment. "Um, actually no," He answers slowly, leaning forward conspiratorially. "I don't really know much about the trumpet actually. But, they were hiring and I'm a fast learner." 

Louis lets out a surprised laugh. “Harold, you dog!” Placing his hand on his chest and raising his eyebrows, he takes on the appearance of one truly scandalized. “I have half a mind to turn you in for such dishonesty.” 

For a second, Harry looks panicked. But, when Louis's cheeks quiver with the effort of holding back a smile, understanding dawns on his face. 

Harry narrows his eyes and leans back against the booth, picking up his drink as he goes. “I bet you think you’re very funny,” He says with a beautiful pout. 

Louis picks up his drink as well and pauses before taking a sip, wiggling his eyebrows at Harry over the glass. “That’s where you’ve got it all wrong, kid. I know I’m funny.” 

Harry rolls his eyes but laughs, clearly already forgiving Louis. His eyes drift around the nearly empty bar, while he worries at his bottom lip with his teeth. Louis reaches forward to release it without thinking. Harry stiffens a little at the contact and brings his eyes back to Louis’s quickly. 

"There's no one really for me to tell anyway," Louis notes, hoping that if ignores his lack of self-control, Harry won't comment on it either. "We don't exactly follow rules too strictly around here." 

Harry nods at that, dropping his eyes to his hands on the table, playing with a ring that sits on his thumb. “I noticed that it’s a little different here than back home,” he says quietly. Louis must look confused, so he clarifies. “I mean with Mr. Malik. The way he is with the man that hired me, Liam. That. That’s not something I’ve ever seen, not in public anyway.” 

Louis picks up his glass and puts it down again, looking for something to do with his hands. He settles on lighting a cigarette and then drags his foot up to rest on his knee, leaning back to study Harry’s face. 

“This place, in here, this place is different from everywhere else,” He says slowly, deliberately. Watching Harry’s expression carefully. “Zayn, and you better call him Zayn he doesn’t like being called by his old man’s name, he runs this town. He does what he wants when he wants. So yeah he’s safe to as he pleases in here. But so is everyone else.” 

He pauses to take a pull of his cigarette and Harry tracks the movement with wide eyes, innocence and sin all wrapped up in one beautiful package. 

Louis nudges his head toward the door. “Out there, people can barely be people, they’re so trampled down by laws and rules, expectations,” He says the last word like he’d rather spit it out, disgusted. “In here, there’s no right and wrong. No talk about how anyone should act, drink, say. There’s no laws.” Leaning forward, he stares deep into Harry’s eyes until the younger man’s cheeks bloom with a pink tint. “No sin,” He whispers. 

Harry’s pulse jumps in his neck. He takes a deep breath, exhaling audibly. Picking up his drink again, he takes a sip and then drops it back down on the table with a thump. 

Straightening his back, he tips his chin up with resolve. "I've been thinking about going back home," he admits, pausing to lick his bottom lip. Driving Louis halfway out of his mind. "I'm not sure I can make it a place like this, that I belong here." 

Louis considers him. It sounds a whole lot like he’s looking to be convinced. Who is Louis to let him down? 

“Well, I’ll tell you what, I think that would be a real tragedy for the city of Chicago to suffer. Hows about we make a little deal, Curly,” Louis bargains, tapping his finger against his bottom lip. “You give me till sun up to show you what this town is about, and then if you still want to go, I’ll help you pack your bags.”

Harry's eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. His cheeks pink up prettily. Louis waits, calmly sipping his drink. 

"Welllll," Harry says with a smirk, tilting his head side to side consideringly. "How can I be sure you have pure intentions?" 

Louis leans forward with a smile. “I can promise you, my intentions are 100% selfish and 100% impure.” 

Harry mirrors Louis’s body language with a serious expression. “You’ve got a deal.” 

 

“So these,” Louis says, holding the door open for Harry to pass through, “are what we call the Gardens.” 

Harry gasps, staring in wide-eyed wonder the scene laid out in front of him. The brick buildings of The Green Mill are laid out in a rectangle, with the middle left open - truly an open-air garden in the middle of the city. Hundreds of people, dressed in silk and satin, pearls and suits, spin around the dance floor in the middle. The stars, twinkling brightly in the clear summer sky, cast a romantic glow.  Atop a huge stage, a woman croons into a microphone with a sultry voice, backed by a band. 

Louis can’t help but stare while Harry takes it all in, pointing to the hanging plants in amazement and clapping happily when a man twirls his partner in a swirl of red fringe.

He's been in the business for a long time, been in this city for even longer. Sometimes all he sees is the grime and the traffic only hears the noise and threats (from the police and rival gangs alike). Watching someone else fall in love with the Mill for the first time, it's like having life breathed right back into his lungs. 

The number ends, and from left of the stage march up a string up fancily dressed dancing girls. While they go through their routine behind the singer, high kicking and sashaying in perfect time, Harry seems to remember he’s with Louis. 

With a shy smile, he nudges Louis’s shoulder with his own. “A lot of pretty faces in this place,” He says lowly. 

Louis turns away from Harry, observing the crowd with a passive expression, and then gives a small shrug. “I’ve seen prettier.”  

Harry giggles, “Yeah?” 

His breath catches when Louis turns back and cups his chin, rubbing his thumb gently over his cheekbone. “Yeah.” 

There’s movement all around them, the crowd is dancing, the band is playing, even the air moves breezily against their skin. But somehow, the space around feels perfectly still and silent. Then Harry’s tongue darts out and runs over his bottom lip, and their little bubble bursts, the sounds of the world filtering back in. 

Harry’s gaze swings back to the stage in what Louis is certain is longing. “So what did you do in the band,” Louis asks, leaning his hip against the railing of the balcony. “If you didn’t play trumpet.” 

“Sang,” Harry says softly, wrapping his long fingers around the iron of the railing and leaning forward a little. When he turns to look into Louis’s eyes, his dimples are out in full force. “Mama put me in the choir in church as soon as I could stand up, been singing ever since.” 

“You miss it.” 

It’s not a question but Harry nods anyway. “Every day. Feel like a fish out of water.” 

"Well then," Louis says abruptly, startling Harry slightly. "Let's throw you back in, legs." 

Confusion looks good on Harry.

“What in God’s name are you talking about,” Harry asks, mostly to Louis’s back as he’s already striding down the steps towards the sunken area of the Gardens. 

Louis moves through the crowd with confidence. Harry keeps up easily, looking around in amazement as the crowd parts for Louis, men nodding at him, women smiling sweetly. He pulls up short when he realizes where Louis is headed. Louis glances back and smiles reassuringly, striding back the couple steps to take Harry’s hand and yank him forward. 

At the foot of the steps to the stage, Harry squeezes Louis’s hand, trying to get his attention. “Louis, what’s going on,” He asks, voice shaking a bit. “What are we doing?”

Louis squeezes his hand back but keeps his attention on the woman striding away from the microphone and coming over towards them. 

“Hey, Ella,” He greets warmly. “How are you, babe?” 

Her red lipstick compliments her chocolate skin beautifully, made all the more pretty when she smiles. “My dogs are killing me,” She says, her tone smokey and soft but still easily heard over the band’s playing. “But, I’m having the time of my life.” She nudges her chin towards Harry. “Who’s this pretty little daisy?” 

Louis throws his arm over Harry’s shoulders and pulls him in close. “This little lamb is Harry.” Croaking his thumb towards Ella, he wiggles his eyebrows at Harry. “This beautiful dame is Ella, she’s our resident Canary. Z and I stole her from New York when got out of there.” 

"It's lovely to meet you, ma'am," Harry says politely, taking her hand and placing a kiss on top. 

She places a hand on her hip and cocks an eyebrow. "My, my, he is a sweetie, isn't he. Southern boys always were a soft spot of mine." 

Louis laughs at the way Harry’s cheek flame. “Yeah well, this one’s mine Ella,” He says with a wink. “And turns out he’s a singer himself. I was hoping you were looking to take a little break, let this one fill in for you for a song.” 

Harry swings his head on between the two of them, panicked. “Oh, no Louis,” He stammers. “No, I don’t think that's a good idea. This is a huge crowd, I’ve never played a place like this.” 

They ignore him. Ella descends the steps, heels clicking along the wood and grabs Harry by the shoulders. “Up you go, come on,” She says, giving him a little shove. “You just head on over to the band, tell them you’re Louis’s boy, and they’ll play whatever you want.” 

Harry stumbles up the stairs and turns to look at Louis pleadingly. “Louis, I cant,” He insists shaking his head. “This is why the band left me behind, I get too scared.” 

Louis shakes his head and points to the front of the stage. “I’ll be standing right there,” He says. “You just sing to me, legs. You can do that for me, can’t you?” 

Harry blinks, takes a deep breath, and then nods. “Yeah, yeah I can sing to you.” 

Louis smiles proudly. "Thatta boy, go on. Get those getaway sticks moving, Curly." 

Louis moves through the crowd, holding Ella’s hand, while they find the perfect spot right up front.  He watches Harry shuffle across the stage nervously stooping slightly with turned in shoulders. 

The pianist turns to look at him expectantly, a little surprised. Louis can’t hear what Harry’s saying but after a second they both turn and look at Louis and the man smiles at Harry and gives him a nod. 

The crowd dances on when the band starts playing a familiar tune, but when Harry starts to sing, many spin around and stare in surprise. He’s nervous, obviously, voice shaking and a little breathless. But then he looks down and meets Louis’s eyes and something seems to settle in him. In the next breath, Harry’s breath is smooth as honey. 

Ella claps her hands together, delighted. “Your little Daisy is singing my song!” As Harry slides into the chorus of “Cheek to Cheek” with ease and grace, she grabs Louis’s arm. “And would you listen to how well he’s doing it too, I’ll be damned.” 

Louis is speechless. Harry’s voice is amazing, the most amazing he’s ever heard. And while he’d thought he was beautiful before, it’s nothing compared to how he looks now- cheeks flushed with joy, hips swaying with the music, lights shining on him from the front, stars twinkling from above. 

It’s where he belongs. If Louis knows anything, he knows that. The stage is where Harry belongs. 

"And I seem to find the happiness I seek," Harry sings, glittering eyes open and locked on Louis's face, "when we're out together, dancing cheek to cheek." 

The crowd explodes in thunderous applause. 

As Harry gives a bow and jogs off the stage, Ella turns to Louis and grabs his arms excitedly. "I'll tell you what you boob, you better keep this one around! He's a star if I've ever seen one," She laughs as Harry comes to their side, smiling hugely. "And if he's not as sweet as pie, my goodness. You did amazing, little daisy." She gives him a pat on the cheek and hurries up on stage as the opening music for the next song starts. 

“I did it,” Harry says, breathless with excitement and adrenaline. He grabs hold of the lapels of Louis jacket tugs. “I can’t believe I did it.” 

Louis takes in his flushed cheeks and his dimpled smile, and just can't help himself. Closing the space between them, he reaches up and hauls Harry's mouth down to him, kissing him sweetly. 

Harry freezes in surprise for a second, and then he's melting into Louis with a whimper. Louis is pretty sure that even above the music he can hear his own heartbeat in his chest. 

He finds pulling away harder than it’s ever been with anyone else before. “You did great, kid,” He says genuinely, “I told ya you could do it.” 

Harry smiles, biting his bottom lip and dipping his chin down. “Thanks, Lou.” 

Louis bops his nose and laughs. “Come on Harold, I’ve got more to show you before the sun comes up.” 

Louis decides Harry’s second learning experience will be the tunnels. If Harry is going to make a huge choice like staying in this city or going back home, he needs to know the whole truth about what goes on at the Mill. What goes on in Chicago. 

“Now listen legs,” Louis says over his shoulder, raising his eyebrow. “We don’t go around telling everybody about this.” 

Harry looks down at Louis’s crouched figure and smiles sweetly, batting his eyelashes. “You saying I’m special, Louis?”

Louis snorts at Harry’s unashamed flirting and turns back to the trap door. “Of course you’re special, Harold. Now watch your step.” 

Louis descends the stairs into the darkness below. Harry glances one last time around at the bar room before following him. 

The air in the underground tunnels is cool and a bit damp. The walls are carved out and have been left raw and unfinished. They are walking along what looks to be small tracks. 

Louis flips a switch and gas lamps illuminate the tunnel. “These tunnels were dug as a way to get coal to and from all buildings,” Louis explains, gesturing to the tracks. “Now we use electric, so we don’t need the coal trolley, but Zayn and I figured out these tunnels are still awful useful.” 

As they walk, they pass a bathroom and several closed doors. “We got some guys down here when we first came to town. Dug out some more rooms, use them for poker, meetings,” Louis puts up a hand to stop Harry and swings open a door so Harry can see inside. “Storing alcohol for the bar.” 

Harry nods and silently watches as Louis closes the door and relocks it. “Are you scared,” He asks quietly, “Or worried I mean. With all this alcohol, what if you and Zayn are caught with all this?” 

Louis smiles and starts walking down the tunnel again. "Well, the fear of being caught is half the fun ain't it." They come up to another door from behind which several voices can be heard, mostly laughing and cursing. "But, really, like I said Zayn owns this town. Prohibition is a goddamn joke of a law, and half the fuzz around here are just as dirty as us." 

Louis opens the door and this time when Harry looks in, he’s met with the sight of Zayn, Liam and a brown haired stranger sitting around a table, playing cards. 

“Niall,” Louis calls out, stepping through the door and pulling Harry in after him. “This is Harry. Be nice and say hello to him.” 

Niall snorts and looks up from his cards. “Hello Harry, I’ll have you know I’m the nicest one in this whole fucking establishment at any given fucking time.” 

Harry's eyebrows shoot up in surprise at Niall's Irish accent, and he laughs at his frankness. "I believe you," He says with a smile. "Nice to meet you." 

Louis plops down in a seat and motions for Harry to do the same. Turning to Zayn, he throws his hand over the back of a chair. “I’ve taken it upon myself to give our Harry an education. He’s trying to figure out if the Green Mill is the place for him or if he’d like to head back home.” 

Zayn smirks but doesn't look up from his hand. "I've got to say I'm not the least bit surprised by that." 

Liam leans forward and rests his chin on his palm. “And what progress have you made with that, has he learned all about our illegal alcohol smuggling?” 

Louis nods, pulling out a cigarette from his pack and offering one to Harry. He declines with a small smile and turns his attention to Niall who leans back in his chair. 

"What about being friendly with dirty, job stealing Irishmen, and gays," He asks with a tilt of his head. 

“Yup,” Louis says, “We’ve covered that part too.” 

"Harry," Zayn says seriously, cutting off Niall's laughter and staring at him in the eye. "What we do here, the business we run, it's dirty and dangerous. It gets violent and sometimes people come up dead." Liam puts his hand on Zayn's arm, looking like maybe he wants to stop him, but Zayn shakes him off gently. "But, I can promise you, no harm will come to you at my hands. I know a daisy that's been beaten down and stepped on when I see it. That won't happen here." 

Harry blinks. They stare at each other for a moment, Zayn’s face serious and sincere. And then Zayn looks back down at his cards, and the spell is broken. 

Harry clears his throat and Louis squeezes his knee. “Well Harold, the sun will be making its appearance soon, what do you say we let these fools play and we welcome it from the roof.” 

 

The city never fully quiets, never really settles into a deep slumber, but it does calm. Now, while the sun peeks up along the edges of the skyline, turning the clouds pink and gold, Harry and Louis sit shoulder to shoulder, look down on Chicago and watch it begin to stir. 

“This was one of the most amazing days I’ve ever had,” Harry says in a hushed voice. 

Louis watches Harry's long finger trace along the palm of Louis's hand. He's suddenly filled with dread and panic. Harry's practically a stranger, he's only just met him, but his heart aches with the prospect of losing him to Louisiana

. 

“I’m glad to hear it,” Louis says turning his head and nosing along the soft curls behind Harry’s ear. “All in a day’s work.” 

Harry shivers and laces their fingers together. “I think,” Harry looks up at the sky and takes a breath. “I think I can see myself here. I think..I think I want to be here. With you.” 

Louis feels like if he walked over to the edge and jumped, he would sprout wings and fly. He brings their connected hands together and kisses them. “Harold, that’s the best news I’ve heard all day.” 

They celebrate Harry’s decision by kissing in the light of the rising sun until their lips are swollen, their pupils are blown, and their hearts sing. 

  
  



End file.
